


The Impossible

by GuileandGall



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: Rhys and Dorian share a quiet moment.





	The Impossible

 

“That’s it. I’m lost,” Rhys revealed, holding his hands out to his sides and turning to face Dorian.

“You’re a ranger. How can you be lost?” the mage accused.

They were less than an hour outside of Skyhold, travelling through a crevice that kept them hidden from the skies above, which meant Corypheus’ dragon couldn’t follow or find their path. Perhaps if Rhys could have better controlled his smirk, Dorian might not have put on that scolding look.

“You think you’re clever,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Dragging me out here into the frigid tundra and pretending to get lost.”

The inquisitor’s laugh echoed in the tight space between the walls of stone. “I discovered something.” He held his hand out palm up. “I wanted to share it with you. I thought perhaps getting lost in these tunnels with you might make it more spontaneous, more like a surprise.”

Dorian uncrossed his arms, laying his hand in Rhys’. He squeezed it softly, using the leverage to pull him closer to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I apologize for the ruse.”

“I reserve forgiveness until I see this surprise.” Despite his words, Rhys was certain Dorian would forgive the transgression. 

“It gets a little tight,” he warned.

His lover smirked. “As I well know.”

Rhys just chuckled and slipped into the tall thin opening in the stone. He never let go of Dorian’s hand, as he led him through the shadowy darkness, which was partially illuminated by Dorian’s staff. After twenty minutes the cave opened up, allowing them to walk side by side in a soft glow. The mage noticed the change in temperature. In the crevice, the wind was blisteringly cold, here it had become far more temperate, almost bearable as the cave gave way to a cavern, opening completely. 

“How is it that you  _stumbled_  across this?” Dorian asked, incredulously. The magical light flickering from the stone set in his staff only lit their faces now.

Rhys’ hand went to his lover’s waist and he closed the distance between them. “I like to explore. Take the path many would overlook. Come.”

With his hand at the small of Dorian’s back, he led him deeper. Dorian was right, this ranger had an uncanny sense of direction and even as the darkness seemed to swallow the light cast from the staff, he found the fire pit he built on his last excursion here. He’d prepared it just for this occasion, and after a few moments, the fire sparked from the flint and the kindling caught creating a roaring blaze that would temper down and spread. 

But in that flash of light Dorian saw it. It was like a garden hidden beneath the rock and ice. Stones in the ceiling reflected and refracted the light of the fire, spreading its glow farther than seemed naturally possible. It seemed well-kept. Closing his eyes, he could sense it. There was magic here. This was not entirely natural.

“This is the work of a mage,” he said, turning to Rhys with concern.

“Was,” the inquisitor corrected. He held out a book that had been resting on a nearby stone. 

Dorian took a moment before opening the tome, to ensure it was not cursed. 

“It’s a journal, dearest. A mage found this place in her travels with her lover, a templar. They fell through the ice cap there,” he pointed up at the faintly bluish glow at the top of the ceiling, an opening that was completely covered over in ice. “This place was a haven, a home. It began out of desperation. Her love injured she needed more herbs than those few she carried with her to care for him. So, she turned her magic toward cultivation.”

Dorian sat on a nearby rock, the book resting in his lap as he let Rhys continue his retelling. He poked at the fire with an iron rod that seemed to have just been laying there on the ground. “Snow melt provided a shallow pond, and boiling the water made certain it wouldn’t make them sick.” Rhys stood and moved to the other man’s side; Dorian shifted, allowing Rhys to take a seat beside him. “Her magic allowed a place for all this to grow without the sun,” he said, clearly in awe. “They traveled the wilds, gathering seeds, and growing what they needed to survive. They began a family in this cave. Raised generations. Her magic lived on. Some children left, found spouses and returned, or made their own way in the world. Took their chances on the world their ancestor’s book told stories of. But some stayed.

“The last entries are from one who claims to be a great granddaughter. She’d nearly been taken by the templars when she left to see Thedas. It soured her on the world beyond this cavern. So, she never left again. The line of dwellers ended with her about fifty years ago, from what I’ve pieced together of the way they seem to have kept time in the book,” Rhys explained with a glance at the book. “I found her body on the pyre. She’d known she was sick, dying. But I imagine she died before she could start the fire herself.”

“Did you?” Dorian asked quietly, with a reverence that matched the topic.

The nod was slight, stoic. “I did. She deserved to return to the Maker’s breast, to see her family.”

“This place is beautiful.” As the fire had grown and calmed, the light from it seemed to set the whole place aglow in a soft but bright light.

“It’s a testament to the lengths that two people will go to for one another,” Rhys said.

His words brought Dorian’s attention back to the young man. He just stared, words escaping him as he lost himself in the intensity within that green gaze. Rhys let the silence linger; they’d become comfortable without words, finally. Neither of them sought to fill that void out of discomfort. Finally, Rhys leaned toward him, his head cocking to the side just so.

When their lips touched, Dorian felt an overwhelming sense of relief, much like that first breath of air after breaking the surface following a desperate swim. His hand slipped beneath the loose end of the cowl, Rhys always wore, his thumb brushing the roughness of the scars it hid. Even after months, he still found himself surprised at what he found in Rhys. Dorian, who quenched his thirst with lust, never dared hope for love. As Rhys’ kiss deepened, Dorian’s heartbeat raced beneath his chest, a tingle spreading from his center and setting every nerve alight while his stomach tied itself in knots.

Soft pecks concluded the kiss, and his forehead came to rest against the other man’s. “Where did you come from?” he breathed.

“Ostwick, but you know that,” Rhys chided with that haughty smirk. He enjoyed his effect on Dorian far too much for the mage’s liking.

“Not what I meant and you know it.”

“Of course, I do. But it’s the only answer to that question.”

“I never imagined this would be possible.”

“You don’t mean the cave, do you?” Rhys asked.

“No, though it is on a list of impossible things. I meant this.” His hand rested on Rhys’ chest, “Us.”

Rhys touched Dorian’s cheek, his fingers tracing the cheekbones, down along his jaw and stopping beneath his chin. “I understand. This was not something I ever thought I could ever have. Nor did I ever hope.” Their pasts had played along similar lines—affairs and dalliances, but never believing there was more in store for them. 

“Amatus,” Dorian whispered against Rhys’ lips. 

Somehow, they’d found the impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a DA DWC prompt.


End file.
